All Dolled Up
by Haine-chan
Summary: Petrel loses his make-up kit one day and has reason to think that one of his fellow Executives has stolen it. It's his life, his pride and joy: so why does no one know where it is? He has a very interesting strategy to find the perpetrator...


All Dolled Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own Pokemon. Enjoy!**

Petrel stood, hovering over his dresser in shock. Something was missing; he could feel it. Like someone had ripped a part of his soul out and had left him pleading for it to come back. It looked like a normal dresser; drawers full of clothes, a mirror that he could see his reflection in, and a few empty bottles of cologne he'd forgotten to throw out. He glanced to the left side of the dresser. Nothing but a clean space. That was where his make-up kit had been. It always sat there, day after day, night after night. It was like his most beloved treasure; he could run to it and conceal his emotions within the face of another. He could bark out orders without feeling remorse. He could feel free to let a tear or two roll.

But now it had disappeared, like the fine morning mist.

Without it, he felt empty, just another Rocket trying to bring back their old leader from training. Without the ability to change his physical appearance, Petrel couldn't seem to leave his room. Not without some kind of assurance that he was losing his mind and that his make-up couldn't have run off on its own.

He started scanning his bedroom for the missing item. Maybe it was misplaced. He ripped apart his dresser drawers; nothing of importance, unless you counted mounds of black uniforms important. He then proceeded to look under his bed; a sort of weird hiding place for an inanimate object, but he was willing to go the extra mile to try and find it. All he found was a few dust-bunnies. Petrel growled in frustration as he proceeded to tear the entire room apart. Pillows were skewed on the floor; sheets were in disarray; clothes were scattered across the room in odd places…

He felt like he was going to strangle someone.

The knob started to turn slowly as someone tried to enter his room. A clump of shirts was blocking the doorway, though, and it wouldn't move more then an inch away from the frame.

"Hey!" the voice yelled as the person struggled to open his door, "Open the door!"

Petrel scurried over to the door, reluctantly, as he shoved the pile of clothes away from the door. Proton came tumbling in and almost tripped on a wad of pants. He balanced himself on Petrel's shoulder and gave him a look that felt like icicles penetrating his skin.

"What are you doing?" Proton asked menacingly as he glanced around the room. He must've thought a hurricane had rampaged his room because his face was a mix of disgust, confusion and slight amusement. "What did you do—?"

"You have the wrong idea," Petrel scoffed as he started to clean up the mess he had made. Proton stood, unwilling to help. "I've seemed to have misplaced my make-up kit and have been looking for it for the past twenty minutes…"

"You tore apart your room…" he started as he kicked a pair of shorts away from his path, "just to find some make-up?"

Petrel nodded slowly as he shoved the clothes back in his drawer.

Proton had always been like this: never willing to help, always thinking for himself. It was like he didn't see anything else but himself. That, and the ever-constant need to crush anyone who opposed their objectives. He was, after all, labeled the scariest and cruelest guy in Team Rocket. That _did_ come with its perks; no one dared to contradict you or stand in your way. If you did, you would surely pay such a cost that you would be left paralyzed in fear or worse. People looked up to you; he had occasionally passed a group of grunts conversing over how cool or powerful Proton was. Some even had fan clubs for him. Petrel thought they were taking this to an extreme. If you liked someone that much, then you weren't normal.

Then again, this _whole team_ wasn't normal…

After a few seconds, Petrel returned to reality and realized he had cleaned up the entire room while he was spacing out. He glanced behind him to see Proton smiling at him.

"You must've been spacing out good, P," he said as he walked towards him, "I kept talking to you and all you did was keep cleaning. What were you thinking about in that brain of yours? How you'd love to marry your make-up or something?"

Petrel felt a small blush spread across his face as he reminisced about his cosmetics. But he shook his head violently and heard wild laughter behind him. Proton was rolling on the floor; clutching his stomach, smile spread across his face.

"You're doing it again!" he said trough bouts of laughter as he rolled on the floor like a rabid animal. Petrel scowled and kicked him in his side. How dare he make fun of him! Just because he liked to space out and reminisce about inanimate objects that could conceal your true identity, didn't give him the incentive to start snickering about it in front of him. "Hey! What was that for?"

"For poking fun at me," he replied bluntly as he sat on his bed, a frown set on his face.

"Fine, fine," Proton replied as he proceeded to lean casually against the doorframe. Occasionally, he noticed him rubbing the spot where he'd kicked him. "So, have any idea where your wife's gone off to?"

"No," Petrel scoffed and added; "and it's not bound to me you know."

"Whatever you say, P," Proton started inspecting his outfit and picking off invisible specks of dirt. "If I were you, I'd try Ariana's bathroom. You never know what a woman has in there."

Petrel paused and stared at the teal-hard man is disgust. "Are you inclining that I sneak into her private bathroom, search for something that has a slim chance of residing there and then potentially get caught in the act?"

"Basically, yes." Proton started to head out of the door, but not before pausing outside the hall and adding; "Or you could stay around here…sulking and moping around like a stick in the mud…"

"Fine," Petrel said hastily as he got up and started to pace his room.

"Daylight's burning, P," Proton mused, "If you need me, you know where I'll be. You'll need backup on this mission." He started strolling down the halls like he was dancing with an invisible girl. "I can see your wedding now—fancy drinks, a disco ball, you in a tuxedo. The only problem is, how're you gonna get that ring on her finger?"

_That was a big waste of time,_ Petrel skulked as he exited his room and started to scan the hallway suspiciously. _Next time, I'll have to make sure not to enlist Proton's help. I'm better off on my own, looking for hours on end._ He ran into a few grunts that looked at him and bowed before running off to do other things. They must've realized he wasn't in disguise; at first, they would look at him with eyes full of curiosity. Then the curiosity turned into confusion and confusion into realization and realization into fear. He didn't want to be feared; he wanted to be acknowledged and looked up to, like Arianna was. Every grunt—girl or boy—saw her as a fearless, headstrong woman who had zero-tolerance for resistance. He, on the hand, was looked at as a Master of Disguise, a man of many faces. You could never tell if it was him or Giovanni or anyone else, for that matter. He had hoped that he would eventually come back and recognize the four of them as extraordinary people who had risked anything and put everything on the line to bring him back.

He was spacing out again.

He shook his head fast and continued to head down the hall. Eventually, he made it to Proton's room; the place he knew he was waiting for him. Petrel felt like he was giving in, surrendering even. But if this was what it took to get his make-up back, then he was willing to take any kind of risk or chance.

Even if it meant having to trail behind a full-headed jerk all afternoon to find it.

Petrel sucked in a breath and raised his hand to the door. Before he could knock, Proton was at the door, smiling wickedly.

"Knew you'd come around, pal," he said as he punched him on the shoulder. Petrel grimaced and rubbed the spot where he had made contact. _That's going to leave a mark in the morning… _"Coming?"

He shook his head and started to follow Proton, who was already half way down the hall.

After about five minutes of pointless searching and Proton flirting with numerous female grunts, they finally reached Ariana's bathroom. The bathroom was the only other logical place his make-up could be hiding. Deciding to take Proton up on his offer had paid off—so far. Proton signaled him to go on and open the door.

At first, he knocked; it was the polite thing to do, after all. After a few seconds of silence, Petrel swung the door open and begun to scan the room for his missing item.

"I'll stay near the door just in case someone comes by," Proton said as he stood guard outside the door.

Petrel scanned the room; he found a cabinet above the mirror. He took to searching trough all of its contents: It was full of lipstick, blush, foundation, eye shadow, a few tubes of mascara and some make-up remover. In the next cabinet were some razors and a bottle of antiperspirant.

"What's in there, Petrel?" Proton called.

"Nothing of importance," Petrel murmured as he continued shifting trough the items

If he were quick, he could smuggle some out of the room without noticing and he could use that until his actual make-up came back. It was perfect! No one would suspect it; they would just assume they lost it and get new ones. No one would think to blame Petrel. They would presume that he had his own and that it was one of the grunts or something. Petrel felt himself snickering uncontrollably as he started to ransack the cabinet. A few containers of blush, a tube of lipstick, antiperspirant wouldn't hurt…

Petrel picked up a noise that sounded like a dying elephant. HE kept going trough the cabinet. But that was a really, REALLY bad idea.

"_What are you doing in my bathroom?"_

Petrel spun around to see Ariana, hands folded, foot tapping wildly and eyes full of malevolence as she witnessed Petrel fumbling trough her vanity. Her face told him to get the hell out of there—and fast—before someone got hurt. But this was something he didn't see coming. He hadn't expected to land in her bathroom, of all places. He was too absorbed in his mind to notice that the noise was Proton whistling at him to get out. He gulped awkwardly as he felt the cosmetics start to slip out of his hands. He saw Proton hiding behind her and pretending to cut his throat.

"Put the make-up _down_," she hissed as Petrel slowly started to lower the items, one at a time, very slowly. One by one, the powder, the lipstick, the blush, all slipped away from him. Then all that was left was the foundation. The first building block in a project that helped mould and sculpt him into another being, another figure that was the least bit like him. The first thing anybody did when applying make-up. His hand quivered uncontrollably as he tried to release the bottle. "Set it on the shelf," she said as she tried to egg him on. Gradually, the bottle fell from his hands and sat on the shelf, sitting there, pleading him to take him back, Petrel grimaced as he shut the cabinet door. "Was that so hard?" Ariana mused as she stopped tapping her feet and gazed at him. He smiled, one that felt fake and not real, and started to walk past her when she stuck her foot out in front of him, sending him sailing through the air. "Don't think you're getting off _that_ easy," she murmured icily as Petrel found his footing and barely missed ramming his head into the wall and giving himself a concussion. "Just what exactly were you planning on doing with my make-up?"

Petrel racked his brain to try and come up with a good excuse that didn't look too suspicious. He couldn't say he was going to use it; that would look weird, not to mention stalker-ish. He _could_ tell her he was comparing brands, or that he wanted to see what kind of foundation she used…

They all sounded stupid.

"Well," he said as he twiddled his thumbs, "I…"

"Yes?" she pressed.

Proton shook his head furiously, telling Petrel to zip it and run.

"Lost my make-up and was trying to smuggle some of yours without you knowing!" he blurted. Proton smacked his head with his hand and started to walk away. Petrel bobbed his head and tried to tell him to stay. But he was already gone. Before he could stop and try to clear the damage, he noticed a small grin creep up Ariana's face. She looked…amused. She was _never_ like this. She must've thought he was a maniac, a fail, and a loony—

"If that's what you were doing you could've just said so." Ariana finished as she stepped out of his way so he could pass, "I know how…" She struggled to find the right word to describe his relationship with his cosmetics. "…_attached_ you are to it. If you're looking for it, try Archer; he'll know where it went. He knows where _everything_ is."

Petrel mumbled a 'thank you' and scurried out of the bathroom. He turned to see Ariana re-organizing her cosmetics and grumble on to herself. He was about to avert his gaze when he noticed Ariana whisper something to herself.

"I am going to kill that son of a—"

So, Petrel had decided: he was going to the head-honcho, the big cheese, the great pumba, the king, the boss—Archer himself. Why hadn't he thought of that before? If only he had consulted him sooner. He would've avoided being laughed and abandoned by Proton and sworn at by Ariana. He could still see her gaze piercing him like a thunderbolt. He shuddered at the very thought of her. But onto other things.

Petrel punched the button outside the elevator and entered the small compartment. Thankfully, it was empty; he could lament in peace. He pressed the top floor button and patiently leaned on the rail and gazed into space. Who would have the gall to do this to him? Surely not any of his fellow executives; they had been as clueless as he'd been when asked where it was. It could've been a grunt, playing a prank on him or something. He tried to think of the date: it was the middle of May, far from April Fool's, so it couldn't be that. And it wasn't his birthday: it had passed months ago. So what could be the explanation…?

The elevator dinged and told him he was at the very peak of the building. His destination was nearing him. Warily, he exited the machine and started to walk towards the observation deck. Petrel knew that Archer would stare out the window for countless hours thinking about who-knows-what. No one knew if he thought about resurrecting Team Rocket to its former glory, or if he could lure Giovanni out from his solitary training, or if he was pondering what he would eat for supper that night. All the same, he would stay and look, then descend back to reality and assume his position as interim head of Team Rocket.

Petrel turned the corner and noticed Archer in his usual spot; his eyes were glazed over and his posture was relaxed. _He must be deep in thought,_ Petrel wondered as he inched towards the man with ninja-like stealth. He was about to open his mouth when he saw Archer pulled something out from his belt. Petrel gasped as he saw Archer pick up a bottle that looked strangely familiar…

It was the foundation he had so frequently applied! He slowly lifted the bottle and examined the liquid in between his fingertips, consulting the feel of the foundation and dropping the bottle carelessly on the ground. Archer then proceeded to rub the liquid on his face. Petrel grimaced. He knew not what he was doing! It was like watching a child play with crayons on the wall! Then he went to the blush, which he proceeded to spread across his cheeks carelessly. It was like an evil scientist's experiment gone horribly, horribly wrong! And finally, he got to the lipstick. Before Petrel could stop him, he had taken the liberty of smearing the make-up on his lips. His face looked like a mauled-up version of a Caterpie, with blood dripping from every direction.

_He was the one who stole it!_

Of all the people to steal, he had thought Archer was the least likely to be the culprit. Petrel had assumed it was Proton; he was a joker, a comic-relief in the team. He loved attention and he would do anything to get it. Even Ariana would have done it; she was, after all, a girl and girls always applied make-up daily to perfect their appearance. Assuming she had run out, she would have stolen it and used it for herself, failing to return it. But Archer? He was a role model among everyone in the team, both executives and grunts. He had told him numerous times that he should always keep an eye on his things, or else someone would run off with it—

Petrel then realized the irony of his very-carefully chosen words.

And what he did with it—a shudder ripped through his body as he tried to back away from him. He tripped on the edge of the wall and almost fell, but he caught himself again, and saw Archer turn his attention from his cosmetics to the noise. Petrel bolted out of there like a frightened Pokémon and furiously pressed the button to go down. As he descended, he caught his breath. His boss had abused his make-up and he had no idea why. He had taken the liberty of keeping the whereabouts of his make-up from everyone.

This was going to be a very hard secret to keep…

A/N Ha ha! This was so entertaining and fun to write! I should do these more often…especially with the Executives (mainly Lambda/Petrel). Were the characters well…in character? Or were they so OOC that you're crying right now? I hope not! -_- Ah, the theatre of my mind! I don't even know what caused me to write such a thing. But it was worth listening to the psychotic voice in my head, don't 'cha think? And, no, I am not going to continue on with this story so DO NOT UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES ADD IT TO YOUR SUBSCRIPTION! ;{D I will NOT be updating this IN MY LIFE! Just wanted to make sure we were all clear on that. But feel free to add it to your favs (if I passed and this one-shot isn't complete CRAP). I'm not trying to bend you to my will…Or am I? Hee hee! Please tell me what you think! –Haine-chan


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